


Connor Ingram and the Time He Was a Total Idiot

by verbaeghe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Connor is an idiot, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, Misunderstandings, Some Humor, Tampa Bay Lightning, Veela (Harry Potter), but we love him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-10-29 14:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe
Summary: Connor is, like, 1/4 Veela. It's never been a problem...until it is.





	Connor Ingram and the Time He Was a Total Idiot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lecavayay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecavayay/gifts).

> @lecavayay has wanted this story for ages, so here it finally is. Hope you love it! ♥

Everyone likes Connor. They always have, it’s just this _je ne sais quoi _(He worked long and hard at learning how to say that, so appreciate it, thank you) thing about him. 

Or so he thinks until the day he turns eleven and get his wand.

“Veela hair? So temperamental,” Violetta Beauvais sniffs. “I can’t believe something like that would choose a wizard from your family, even with hair that light.”

Connor feels confused when he hands over his Dragots. He thanks her (he’s polite, jeez, his mom taught him better than to be rude) and heads out to where said mom is waiting in the alley.

“What’s wrong with Veela hair as a wand core, mom?” Connor asks as he absolutely does not mess with his hair in any way. 

“Nothing, dear,” she answers absently, gathering up the various bags at her feet.

“But the woman in the shop said--”

“Sometimes people get the wrong idea about Veelas, Connor,” she says. “And that’s all there is to that.”

“Okay,” Connor agrees.

//

_Nine years later _

“What are you doing?” Connor uses the mirror to glance at his mom before shifting back and applying another line of dye. 

“I’m dyeing my hair, mom.” He spreads the goo down over his hair with two gloved fingers.

“Okay, yes, I can see that. But why?” 

“I don’t want to spend my life a shop-keep, so I’m going to try out for the Bay Area Bolts practice squad.”

“Why do you have to dye your hair for that?” 

“Mom, I know that there’s no rules that we can’t play on squads, but we both know that Veelas are sort of frowned upon.”

“That isn’t tru--”

“Mom. Deep down pretty much everyone is anti-Veela. Most pretend that they aren’t, but it almost always slips.” Connor shrugs, goes back to his work.

“Your hair is still going to do its Thing,” she says slowly. “Nothing is going to stop it from being flowy and ethereal. And you can’t pretend to be something you aren’t.”

“At least I can put it off as a trick of the light if my hair isn’t white,” Connor answers. “And I’m not trying to be something I’m not, I’m just going for ‘not being judged for who I am.’”

“Connor,” his mom sighs.

“It is what it is.” Connor frowns at his reflection. “I have to get my stuff together, rinse this, and get going.”

“Good luck, I guess.” His mom pecks his shoulder. 

“Thanks, mom.”

Connor makes the practice squad easily. Of course he does, he’s the best flyer there. 

By far. 

//

Connor is sitting in his stall minding his own business when Coach Lecavalier walks in with some guy. Some _hot_ guy. 

“Hey,” Connor starts, leaning over into Slater’s space. “Who’s the new guy?”

Slater pulls his eyes away from Braydon and frowns. “How would I know?” 

“Just thought you mighta heard something, that’s all,” Connor shrugs.

“Listen up, boys,” Coach calls them to attention. “This is Carter Verhaeghe, just traded over from the Islander Isles practice squad.” He grins crookedly. “We got him for Gudlevskis, who Ingy here made expendable.”

Connor might be more annoyed at being called Ingy, if he wasn’t still too busy taking in how flipping attractive Carter is. Connor pauses, sits up a little more straight. He can’t let his attraction bleed through like this, because it will impose his will on Carter, and that’s a hard no.

So Connor just gives him a nod when Coach gets to him in the intro line. He can keep his distance from the gorgeous new guy. 

It’s totally nothing, it’s fine. 

Everything is fine. 

//

Everything goes as planned for the first couple weeks, but then Connor arrives early to the pitch one day because his mom was an absolute tornado cleaning up the house this morning, and it’s best to just stay out of her way when she gets like that.

He dresses and grabs his broom, meaning to get in a little flying solo flying, but he stops at the edge of the pitch when he sees Carter is already out there doing a pretty nice bit of his own. Passing to himself, zigging and zagging through invisible defenders, scoring goal after goal.

Rinse and repeat. 

“Wow,” Connor breathes. It’s so...impressive. He’s wasted on a practice squad. 

“Yo!” Connor waves at him when he makes his next pass. He lands without a sound, smiles. 

It’s like a gut-punch, but Connor isn’t going to mention that.

“Y’know, it’s totally worthless to do all that fancy flying if no one is there stopping the Quaffle,” Connor grins.

“You think you can stop me?” he asks, all sass as he drags an arm across his sweaty forehead.

“I know I can,” Connor can sass too, thank you very much.

“Oh, you’re on,” Carter challenges, shooting back up onto the sky. Connor grins after him for a second before taking his place in front of the hoops. 

Connor does well with the first three shots. He keeps his eye on the Quaffle and stops each one easily. 

On the fourth, he gets caught up in the way that Carter cuts back and forth across the entire play area like it’s _nothing._ And then the Quaffle is behind him.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath. 

“So you _can_ be beaten.” Carter’s smile is much softer than the situation calls for.

“You should try it again,” Connor challenges.

“Gladly,” Carter laughs, flying back into attack position to start another run. 

//

Connor is sitting in his stall, taking off his gear when Carter plops down next to him. “Hey, a group of us are going out to the pub later, care to join us?”

Connor smiles at him. “I’d love to.”

Carter falters just a bit, shifts his eyes up. “Hey, what’s this? You going prematurely grey on us, Ingy?” He pokes at Connor’s hairline. 

“Oh, um. I just remembered a..thing.” Connor springs up.

“A thing?” Carter echoes, cocking his head. 

“Yep. Very important thing. I’ll catch up with you guys at the pub later.” Connor doesn’t...alright, _fine_. He absolutely _does_ flee the locker room, but who could blame him? He has to fix his hair.

Connor is not being obsessive when he smooths his hair as he steps into the pub. He knows that he can’t stop it from doing that stupid floof thing that it does, but he doesn’t really want it bringing anymore attention to itself.

He pauses, scans the room until his finds his teammates. They’re huddled up in one of the corners, playing Exploding Snap. Connor watches Carter concentrate for a couple of rounds, lingers on how his tip of his too-pink tongue is never still before he puts on his brightest smile and saunters over.

“Deal me in, gentlemen.” Connor accepts a round of cheerful greetings, flagging for a pint as he pulls up a stool. 

Braydon goes out pretty quickly. Slater isn’t far behind, but Connor thinks that might be on purpose. His theory is proven right a couple moments later when he looks up to see Slater treating a small burn on the tip of Braydon’s nose. 

Tony and Misha are pretty much eliminated as a pair too, and Connor is pretty sure he sees them thread their hands together on the way to the bar. 

Huh. 

He wasn’t aware until this minute that pretty much everyone else on the team is paired off, but it’s sure looking that way right now. At least with the guys that are here. Except for. 

Aw, man. 

Connor looks up at Carter, he’s nervous about what would mean, except he can’t. He won’t. 

“Are you ready to lose, Keeper?” Carter asks, the glint of a challenge in his eye.

“Psh, you wish,” Connor replies with a grin. “Let’s go, Chaser.” 

Carter and Connor play for two straight hours, both too competitive to give up.

“Hey, we’re gonna head out,” Slater says from somewhere behind him.

“Okay, I just need to win this game,” Connor says over his shoulder without looking.

Carter gives a little snort. “Cocky.” Connor shrugs. “We’ll see you guys at practice,” Carter says to Slater. 

“Don’t stay out too late playing this game,” Slater is grinning when Connor glances back at him. “You know Coach will have a fit.”

“The end of this game is coming, I can feel it,” Connor says, turning back to the game. 

Slater laughs. “Goodnight, boys.” 

The game is intense and the air around them is almost electric. Connor can _feel_ Carter’s tension and he just _knows_ that he’s going to win this game.

And then a stupid Mountain Troll card blows up right in his face. 

He’s sputtering and trying to clear his vision so he startles when Carter sits down next to him. He holds up a soggy napkin in a wordless question. Connor coughs a little bit, nods.

“Aren’t you a mess,” he says softly, dragging the cold, wet napkin across the bridge of Connor’s nose.

“Yeah, usually,” Connor agrees weakly.

“And precious,” Carter says, huffing a small laugh. They look at one another for what feels like an eternity, and then Carter cups Connor’s jaw, leans in…

For just one second, Connor leans in too.

And then he remembers.

“No!” Connor half-shouts, jerking back in a bit of a panic.

“No?” Carter sits up a bit. He looks confused. Which is just the _worst_. 

“Y-you don’t want this.” Connor shakes his head. “This is. Just. No.”

“I have a pretty good idea of what I want,” Carter says. His soft smile returns. “And I know that we could be really good together, so--”

“You don’t know…” Connor trails off, shakes his head again. “You--I’m not.”

“What are you trying to say?” Carter places a hand on Connor’s knee. It grounds him, helps him gather his thoughts. 

And that’s the worst part of this whole thing. 

“I’m trying to say that _I don’t want you_,” Connor snaps. Carter pulls away like he’s been burned. Connor takes the opportunity to sprint from the pub and apparate home.

//

The next practice is sort of tense. Carter passes on every drill instead of shooting. Connor wonders if it’s so they don’t have to make eye contact.

Probably.

“Hey, uh, Connor?” comes Carter’s hesitant voice as Connor lands after Vinny blows time. He looks over, and if Carter could be wringing his broomstick, he would be.

“What’s up?” Connor’s voice comes out calmer than he expects. It’s sort of a relief. 

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I misread things. I guess, and I made things weird. I didn’t mean to and I won’t...I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. You smile at everyone, and I realize now that I’m not...I’ll steer clear of you until I don’t make you…” He sighs. “I’m just really sorry.”

Connor watches him leave. His heart hurts, but at least he knows that he doesn’t have Carter under his spell anymore.

//

Connor spends the next couple of days feeling like the total ass that he is. He doesn’t like not being around Carter and he has to do something, _anything_ to make it better.

So he sucks it up and walks up to Carter the next time they’re at the pub. “Can I, um. Talk to you?”

Carter looks over away from Slater and smiles at him. It’s gentle, slow and easy. A total gut punch and Connor wishes it didn’t make his stomach flip over this way.

“I’ll catch you later,” Slater says before he wanders off.

“What’s up?” Carter prompts, because Connor is still just standing there like an idiot.

“Sorry, I wanted to ask if we could hang out again?” Connor swallows. “I miss hanging out with you and I know I was terrible, but--” 

“You weren’t terrible. It was my fault,” Carter says easily, taking the blame that isn’t even his. “Of course we can still hang out.” He pulls out a deck of cards. “Ready to lose again?”

“Psh, you wish,” Connor answers. Carter chuckles and deals the cards.

// 

Miller gets traded a couple of days later and Carter is bumped up to the main squad. He takes the announcement in stride, though he does look a little green.

It suddenly dawns on Connor that now everyone else is going to know about Carter. They’ll all get to see his flying and his charming smile. Oh, and his sweet scoring. Oh no. Now Carter is going to be famous and someone else will get him and Connor is going to just have to watch him be happy with someone else.

There’s still a little angry voice that whispers that he should have just taken what he wanted, that it wouldn’t have been that bad for Carter.

Connor hates that voice and it can sod right off.

He does what any person in his situation would do. He goes home and faceplants into his bed.

“Connor, honey? What’s wrong?” His mom asks after a little while.

“I hate everything,” Connor mutters into his pillow.

“Sorry, dear. I don’t speak pillow.” She laughs at her own joke, and maybe it’s a bit funny, but he isn’t in the mood. 

He sits up, pulls his knees in and hugs them. “I just hate that people always like me.”

“What? Why?” She steps into the room and takes a seat at the end of his bed. 

“Because none of it’s real. Everyone is always just so charmed and act like I’m so amazing, but it’s only because I’m part Veela. No one likes me because I’m _me_!”

“Connor, sweetie, I love you, but sometimes you are a right fool, d’you know that?”

He blinks at him mom. “Uh, great pep talk, I guess.”

“You’re charming and funny. And quite lovely in general, but that _is_ just you.” She shakes her head. “Your ancestors don’t have anything to do with that.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re saying I don’t Veela people?” 

“You can't just _Veela_ people, Connor. No Veela can passively charm someone. How on earth have you gotten to this age and still think that?” She frowns at him.

“You said not passively, but it can be done on purpose? Who would do that?”

“No one does it.”

“But those mascots that one year at the World Cup--”

“They were putting on a show. There was nothing else to that besides showing off.” She scrunches her nose in distaste. “It was a terrible display done by some full blood Veela, nothing more.”

“I can’t believe that I thought that I was doing it all this time,” Connor huffs, annoyed with himself. 

His mom pulls him into a hug. “You know, when I said that people get the wrong ideas about Veelas, I didn’t think it included you.”

A burst of surprised laughter escapes him. “Me either, mom.”

“Are you gonna go get that boy you like now?” she asks. He pulls back, looks at her with wide eyes. 

“How did you know…?”

“A mom always does,” she says with a smirk, standing and heading out of the room. 

//

He takes a gamble that Carter will be at the pitch early like he usually is. Carter doesn’t let him down. He’s sitting in his stall, an obvious bundle of nerves about the game. 

“Hey.” 

Carter looks up, offers him a ghost of a smile. It still makes Connor’s stomach turn over. “Hey yourself.”

“Looks like you’re worried, but you shouldn’t be. You’re so good at this that you’re totally going to kill it out there, I know it.”

Carter shrugs, looks back at his hands, twists his fingers together.

“Trust me, I’m totally right about this.” Connor grins. “I’m going to go buy your jersey right now so I can be your number one fan. Y’know, before everyone else jumps on the bandwagon.”

Carter finally laughs, even relaxes a smidge. “You’re an ass.”

“Don’t I know it.” His grin widens. “But I’m going to buy one. Right now. Make sure you look for me wearing that 54 in the stands.”

Carter laughs again, throwing a towel at him as he heads for the door.

He feels like he’s finally done something right when it hits him square in the back. 

//

Connor paces in front of the doors to the store until it opens to the general public. He rushes in, grabs the first jersey he can get his hands on, and makes the bemused attendant add “Verhaeghe” and a 54.

“Thanks, man,” Connor says, throwing an extra handful of Dragots on the counter while he struggles into the jersey on his way up to the team box. 

The crowd is electric when the Bolts step onto the pitch, but Connor only has eyes for Carter. He fidgets through all of the pregame clownery, and then the guys are finally taking to the air.

They line up across from the Isles, and how did Connor not realize who they’re playing today? Jeez, he should have offered extra words of encouragement or something. 

Anyway, they line up and the ref tosses the Quaffle into the air.

Bray sprints right after it, beating number 13 to the scene. He immediately whips it over to Pally, who one-hands it to Carter.

He easily puts it past the Keeper.

Connor jumps up and cheers as loudly as he can. He glances at his program just long enough to see the Keeper wears number 1.

He doesn’t make it to the name, because the guy wearing number 7 is already scooping up the Quaffle and dashing across the pitch towards Vasy. Then he’s almost knocked off his broom by an expert, and damn hard, Bludger shot from Coby. Carter snatches the lost Quaffle up before it hits the ground, passes it to Pally. 

Another goal scored for the good guys. 

“That’s my boy!” Slater yells from a couple of seats away. Connor smiles. He understands that feeling all too well, even if Carter isn’t his. Yet.

He settles back into his seat, listening to Tony babble about how hot it is when Misha hits the Bludger _like that_ while he watches Carter fly his patterns out there. 

The game passes by quickly enough. Carter scores his fair share of goals and, thankfully, TJ catches the Snitch after about ninety minutes. 

So, a pretty short game in the end.

Connor fights the crowds leaving because he doesn’t want to wait any longer. He pauses by the door to the locker room, makes sure he’s put together enough, that there aren’t any wrinkles in his jersey, and heads in.

“So,” Connor drags out the o as he slides in next to Carter. “You gonna sign this for me, or what?” 

“I can’t believe you really got one.” Carter shakes his head, but he’s smiling. 

“Well, I wanted to be your number one Quidditch bunny,” Connor bats his eyelashes in Carter’s general direction.

“I don’t think they appreciate that term,” Carter laughs. 

“Well, I’m one of them, so…”

“I don’t think that you count as--”

Connor leans in and kisses him.

Carter starts to melt into it, but pulls away. “I thought you said you don’t want me?” His voice is quiet, kinda hesitant. 

Connor cups his jaw in both hands, gently strokes a thumb up and down one side. He offers a small smile. “Well, like you said, I’m an ass.”

Carter laughs. “That’s fair.”

“The thing is, I’m part Veela and I thought that I was making you want me.”

“That’s ridiculous, boy Veelas don’t even have that power.”

“Yeah, my mom told--” Connor’s hands drop when Carter’s words catch up with him. “I reckon I’m an idiot in addition to an ass.”

“We all have our flaws,” Carter grins.

“I could be your idiotic ass though,” Connor offers. 

“I think I’d like that.” Carter’s grin softens into a real smile. He reaches for Connor, pulls him back in. “C’mere.”

Their third kiss is something for the books. 

Or would be, if Connor wanted to share it with anyone. 


End file.
